


in its cage

by flimsy



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Banter, Hand Jobs, Intoxication, M/M, Oral Sex, Slight Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 07:39:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flimsy/pseuds/flimsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Niall's birthday party, Louis gets drunk with Nick. </p><p> <br/><i>Yes,” Nick says, “that’s what I’m good at. Getting people shitfaced. I’m a professional shitfacer.” He shifts a little closer, his thigh pressed against Louis’, his body warm and big next to his own. </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“You’re a professional shittalker,” Louis shoots back, smirking, “that’s what you are.” He draws back, bumping shoulders with Nick, and gives him a challenging look.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	in its cage

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Em for beta and general wonderfulness about this <3
> 
> [Tumblr](http://flimsi.tumblr.com)/[Livejournal](http://flimsy.livejournal.com).

By the time Louis arrives at Funky Buddha, Harry is already plastered, pink-faced and wide-eyed, laughing at any silly little thing people tell him; he's in his usual white T-shirt and skinny jeans combo, and the glittery silver of his necklaces accentuates the sharp angles of his clavicle giving way to the wide spread of his shoulders. Louis stops at the entrance of the VIP section for a moment, then smoothes his shirt out and ducks past the security guard who waves him through.

There's a mess of bottles and glasses and pieces of cake on the table, and Louis bites his lip and tries to smile and not feel bad about being late, when from the other side of the room a figure in white and red, bleached hair and all, runs toward him and catches him in a tight hug. He laughs and hugs Niall back, squeezing for a good minute before letting go.

"Happy birthday, mate," he says when they pull apart. "Sorry I'm late."

"No worries," Niall says; he's grinning like a madman, and Louis shakes his head and follows him to tables where Niall squeezes in between two girls and resumes what appears to be an elaborate story. Louis hesitates for a moment and then sits in the free spot between Harry and somebody he doesn't quite know.

"Hey," he says and nudges Harry's shoulder, and Harry grins at him, nudging back.

"Hey you," he replies.

"Where's Liam and Zayn?" Louis asks and then takes the glass of champagne somebody hands him, eyes flickering between the faces he doesn't know, back to Harry's.

"Zayn had a thing with Little Mix," Harry explains, "and Liam left just before you got here."

"Oh," Louis says and purses his lips. He takes a large sip and then another and another until the alcohol starts warming up his blood a little. It's not that he doesn't like hanging out with Harry, or with Niall, but Niall is busy celebrating and Louis doesn't want to interfere, and Harry's got his hand on some girl's knee even as he's talking to Louis. Louis sighs and empties his glass, then gets up again. "I'm getting a proper drink," he says and Harry raises his glass at him, then turns back to his girl.

Louis pushes through the crowd, shaking hands of people he doesn’t quite know, and then finally makes it to the bar. He orders a beer and a shot of tequila which he downs before washing the taste away with a generous sip from his beer. He should get pissed, too, like all the other people here, and then mingle. Get pissed, then mingle. 

He leans over the bar again and orders another shot; just as he sets it down again, there’s a body pressing up against Louis for a moment, before moving and settling against the bar next to him.

“Louis,” Nick says and orders a pint for himself. “Tomlinson.” He’s all in black and grey, his quiff making him even taller than he actually is. Even leaning against the counter, Louis still has to tilt his head back to look at him. He blinks in surprise, mouth against the the rim of his bottle of Corona and quickly takes a sip, frowning a little. “Hi, Nick,” he says. 

“You don’t look happy to see me,” Nick replies and takes a sip from his beer, throat working; he keeps his gaze on Louis, however, and Louis stares back, determined not to give in. 

“I’m not.” He smiles and toasts Nick with his bottle before turning and escaping past a big group of people until he finds the dance floor; he finishes his beer in a few big gulps and heads into the crowd where the air is moist and hot. It’s easy to hide here where everyone is just moving to the music. He dances for a bit until he’s sticky with sweat and then returns to the bar to get another beer and another shot, then makes his way back to their table. 

Niall and the two girls are gone and Harry is talking into the neck of the pretty blonde he was chatting up before; there are a few girls and Nick is telling a story with his hands. Louis considers them for a moment, then sits on one of the leather stools, legs crossed, and fishes his phone from his pocket. He looks up at Nick from under his lashes when Nick nudges him with his boot. 

“You look quite sweaty,” Nick says with a grin and Louis smiles back cordially and answers, “It’s what happens when you dance which is something that young people do.”

The girls next to Nick giggle and toast Louis, who toasts back and takes a sip from his beer. It’s not that he doesn’t like Nick; Nick is funny and he’s charming, too, and he knows how to tell a good story. Louis doesn’t _want_ to like him. 

Nick shakes his head and laughs, clutching at his chest, and leans back against the sofa, long legs stretched out as though he’s showing off his height and how he can’t quite fit into the small space designated between the sofa and their table, and Louis purses his lips and glares, glancing at Harry, whose mouth by now has found the blonde’s neck and is sucking little red flowers into it.

One of the girls leans over and whispers something into Nick’s ear and he laughs; she and the others leave in a flurry of dresses and whispers, pointing at Harry and his girl, and Louis groans and shakes his head, then climbs to his feet and pushes at Harry’s shoulder.

“Haz,” he hisses, “are you daft? Take it to a hotel.” He glances at Nick who’s watching him with a cocked brow and a soft curve to his mouth - like all this is really funny to him - and nudges Harry’s shoulder again. “Honestly, don’t be an idiot.” 

Harry looks up, arm around the girl’s shoulder, and Louis sighs and rolls his eyes. “Go on,” he says.

“Fine, yes, yeah,” Harry finally says and gets up, pulling the girl with him. 

“Get a taxi!” Louis calls after them and watches as they leave, then grabs one of the bottles of vodka from the bucket on the table, flops down on the sofa and mixes himself a drink.

“You’re quite sensible when you choose to be,” Nick says. He offers his glass up and Louis fills it with vodka and RedBull, then hands it back, shrugging. 

“I don’t choose to,” he replies and drinks without waiting for Nick to say a toast. The taste is sharp and he takes another sip, leaning back as the alcohol starts pooling like lava in his stomach. Maybe if he’d started with vodka instead of beer he’d already be drunk by now. 

“Good thing you were here, though,” Nick says and Louis turns his head a little where it’s resting against the backrest of the sofa. “Looking after him. Making sure he’s alright,” Nick continues. He gives Louis a little smirk and Louis rolls his eyes. 

“Wouldn’t you have done the same?” He laughs a bit and then pulls himself up by his knee, head already swimming. Taking another sip from his drink, he tilts a brow at Nick. 

Nick smiles and rolls his shoulders. “Maybe. Probably. I did however enjoy watching his technique.” 

Louis makes a disapproving sound and closes his eyes, then finishes his drink. He’s well on his way now because the tips of his fingers are starting to feel tingly, buzzing. A little belatedly he says, “You do know he’s not queer, now do you?” He gives Nick a long look. “And never will be. All about the fanny that boy.” 

Nick laughs again and reaches out to take Louis’ glass from his hand; he mixes another round of drinks and then hands the glass back to Louis, who takes a sip and pulls a face. “What’s this shit, Grimshaw? Did you even put vodka in there?” He sits up and reaches for the bottle in the bucket, but Nick bats at his hand. 

“Take it slow,” he says and clinks his glass against Louis’. “Unless your plan is, as a matter of fact, to be vomiting all over me later.”

Louis kicks him in the shin and then takes another sip, shaking his head. “I don’t like you,” he says. “I think you’re odd and your hair is _ridiculous_ and you mix terrible, terrible drinks.” He laughs despite himself and then lies back against the couch again. He hadn’t really pictured his night ending like this, getting plastered with Nick of all people. It takes a good minute in which Nick gives him a long look, not quite smiling, but not quite frowning either, before Louis realizes he’s said that out loud. 

“At least,” he says with a grin and then finishes his drink. “At least I got shitfaced.”

“Yes,” Nick says, “that’s what I’m good at. Getting people shitfaced. I’m a professional shitfacer.” He shifts a little closer, his thigh pressed against Louis’, his body warm and _big_ next to his own. 

“You’re a professional shittalker,” Louis shoots back, smirking, “that’s what you are.” He draws back, bumping shoulders with Nick, and gives him a challenging look. 

“What, what, what,” Nick says, shaking his head. “Are you trying to start a wrestling match here? You do realize I’m not one of your lads, do you?” He grabs Louis’ glass and puts it on the table along with his own and then catches Louis’ wrists in his hands. 

Louis snorts and wiggles his hands. “No, you’re old. Ancient. Don’t worry, I couldn’t mistake your wrinkly face for one of the boys’.” He wrangles his hands free and then stumbles to his feet, swaying a little. 

“Where’re you off to?” Nick says and gets up; he reaches out to catch Louis’ elbow, but Louis pulls away frowning. 

“I want to dance,” he says and smoothes his hair back a little, the loose strands of his fringe falling back down immediately. “You can stay here, or go, I don’t care.” He starts pushing through the crowd toward the dancefloor, but when he looks back, finds that Nick is following him. He huffs out a noise, but keeps going, not resisting when Nick’s hand slides down his arm and finds his fingers, holding on. 

They find a spot in a corner and Louis closes his eyes and just moves to the music and the bass until his blood is hot with it and his head is spinning; Nick’s hands are on his waist and hip, fingers splayed out over the small of his back, and Louis leans into them and opens his eyes. 

Nick’s hair is sweaty and a mess and Louis feels dizzy, so he leans against him some more. They stop moving and Nick maneuvers them off the dancefloor and further into their corner until Louis’ back hits the wall. 

“Hey,” Nick says, “you alright?”

Louis nods and then tiptoes, reaches up to curl his hand around the back of Nick’s neck. He pulls him down a little and uses the tiny remaining moment of surprise to press their lips together. Nick tastes like beer and Red Bull and faintly of mints and cigarettes but Louis doesn’t really care. He presses closer and keeps kissing him until Nick grabs his shoulders and steers him back. 

“Don’t bloody cockblock me, Grimshaw,” Louis says, half-smiling; he feels giddy and light and oddly aware of how drunk he actually is. 

“I’ll cockblock you all I feel like when this is about my bloody cock,” Nick replies. His voice sounds a little panicked, not as even and soothing as it does on the radio usually, not that Louis ever listens, really. 

“Wha’,” he says. “You think your cock is more special than the others?”

“Oh god.” Nick shakes his head and trails his right hand up Louis’ shoulder to his nape, fingers digging into his hair. “You really are completely pissed.” 

Louis sighs a little and lets his head fall back against the wall, allowing the room to spin around him for a moment. “Take me home,” he manages and tilts his hips up a little, meeting Nick’s eyes. 

“I’m taking you to a _taxi_ ,” Nick says and grabs his shoulder and then his waist, hoisting him up and ushering him through the crowd and outside through the back entrance, past the bouncers and to the taxi stand where the night air rushes into Louis’ blood like a flash of lightning. 

He’s still dizzy when Nick wrenches open the door of a taxi and makes him get inside, but scoots over to make room anyway, clutching at the passenger seat headrest. Nick sticks his head into the car and asks, “I want to assume that you still know your address. And that you have your keys and money?”

Louis rolls his eyes and reaches over the seats, grabbing the collar of Nick’s blazer, tugging until Nick has no choice but to get into the car. He almost falls in, but then pulls the door shut; he gives Louis a long look, but then audibly sighs and leans back to fasten his seatbelt. 

Louis watches his profile for a moment, his odd dimples and his stubble and the way part of his hair is still sticking to his forehead, and then shifts away, pressing his forehead against the window. He tells the driver his address and closes his eyes, oddly aware of the proximity of Nick’s body, the warmth exuding from him. 

It’s not a short ride and Louis almost drifts off, dimly aware of Nick on the phone, talking, explaining, but the words don’t quite fit together into something that makes sense to Louis; somewhere in the back of his head Louis is waiting for his name to come up in the conversation, but it doesn’t, and not long after Nick hangs up. A while later Louis feels him move, hears the door of the car open, fall shut and open again and then there’s a hand on his shoulder and arm, squeezing gently. 

“Hey,” Nick says, “we’re here. I’ll help you.” 

Louis groans but gets out of the car, digging for his keys in his jeans while Nick pays the driver. He’s fumbling with them, trying to unlock his door, when the car pulls out of the driveway and Nick makes it up the stairs and takes the keys from his hands and opens the door. He frogmarches Louis into the flat, not really using any force. He shuts and locks the door while Louis finds a steady spot against the wall and toes off his shoes. 

“Nice flat,” Nick says; he drops the keys on the drawer next to the door and tilts his chin in question. “Will you be alright?” 

Louis hums and nods, then pushes off the wall. “Tuck me in?” He smiles and reaches out to hook his fingers into the collar of Nick’s blazer. Nick catches his hand and stares down at him, brows furrowed, but then visibly deflates and lets Louis take hold of his hand and lead him through the hall and into the bedroom. 

“I’ll only tuck you in,” he answers belatedly and Louis grins at that and wiggles out his jeans and shirt. “Not more than that,” Nick elaborates and Louis crawls into bed without really listening. He gets under the covers and beckons Nick with an outstretched arm. 

“Wish me a good night,” he demands and Nick steps closer, then sits on the edge of the bed and ineffectively pulls at Louis’ blanket, trying to tug it up a little. “Properly,” Louis says and leans up and kisses him again, carefully nipping at Nick’s lips. 

He’s not exactly more sober now than at the club an hour ago, but the room is lit and he’s more aware of the scrape of Nick’s stubble over his chin and the sensation of Nick’s breath on his cheek just before they pull apart again. 

“Say good night, Tomlinson,” Nick says, voice cracking a bit at the end. He pets Louis’ cheek, tousles his hair and gets up. 

“Good night,” Louis says and lies back down. Like this, Nick is even taller and Louis wants him to come back to the bed because he wants to run his hands over Nick’s arms and shoulders and kiss him again, but Nick flicks the light switch instead and bathes the room in darkness. 

“Going now,” he says and Louis sits up and shakes his head. 

“No, Nick. C’mere here again.” Louis gnaws at his lip, uncertain for a moment whether or not Nick is even still here, but then the bed dips again. He reaches out blindly and finds his cheek and his then his neck and pulls him down, their foreheads knocking together. This time Nick kisses him, biting at his lower lip and licking into his mouth, hungry, almost aggressive. 

They shift a little, breathing hard, until Nick is half on top of Louis, but don’t break the kiss. Louis digs his fingers into Nick’s hair and arches up, groaning softly, and pulls away for air for a moment, staring up at the contours of his face in the darkness. 

“I should go now,” Nick says and Louis shakes his head, but Nick continues. “Honestly, this is a stupid idea and you’re totally pissed and so am I.” 

Louis shakes his head and pushes the blanket back. He trails his hands down Nick’s chest and under his T-shirt to lift it up and over his head. It gets caught in Nick’s blazer but Louis tugs until it comes off, teasing Nick’s shoulders with the tips of his fingers. Nick makes a little noise and then sits up and leans down to take his shoes off, then crawls into bed with Louis, settling on top of him again. 

He’s heavy and warm, a comfortable weight that steals some of Louis’ breath when he shifts his legs apart, knees framing Nick’s hips. He allows Nick to help him out of his tank top and holds his breath when Nick kisses down his neck and chest, mouthing at his nipples until Louis makes a noise in the back if his throat, unable to hold back. 

“Still not convinced this is very smart,” Nick says after a moment; Louis grabs his hair and pulls him up so they can kiss again, licking into Nick’s mouth and biting at his lower lip. 

“ _You_ ’re not smart,” he quips and tilts his hips up, sighing a little. Nick laughs and bites his chin and then his lip and Louis reaches down and fumbles first with the button on his jeans and then the zipper. Nick is half-hard already and Louis wraps his hand around his cock through his pants and squeezes gently, grinning when Nick breaks away, moaning. 

“Hey, wait,” Nick groans and reaches down to grab Louis’ wrist and pull him away; he pins Louis’ hand above his head and Louis sighs, shivering a little, arousal rushing through him like a tidal wave spreading from his groin into every fibre of his body. 

“No waiting,” he grunts. He rubs up against Nick again, but doesn’t try to pull out of his grip, enjoying the way Nick’s hand fits so perfectly over his wrist, covers it entirely from the feel of it. 

“God, Louis.” Nick’s mouth latches onto his neck, sucking, kissing, _biting_ , and Louis lets his eyes fall shut, moaning loudly; he likes this, the way Nick can pin him down and the way Nick can take what he wants. He likes the way Nick’s now fully hard cock is pressing into his hip and he likes knowing that there will be marks on him tomorrow. 

He helps Nick wiggle out of his jeans and then spreads his legs a little more and Nick thrusts against him, moaning into his neck. He pulls back, raising himself up on his elbows, and speeds up, dry-humping against Louis, their cocks rubbing together through their boxers. Louis bites his lip, furrows his brows and holds Nick’s gaze steady, but can’t help whimpering. 

“I want to do it properly,” he groans and Nick shakes his head and stops. He dives down again and Louis welcomes him open-mouthed, teeth clicking as they kiss. 

“You’re drunk,” Nick emphasises again. Louis makes a frustrated noise and bites down hard on Nick’s bottom lip. He wiggles his hand free finally and reaches down again, stroking Nick through his pants until he’s moaning loudly and trying to thrust into the circle of Louis’ fingers. Louis imagines the width of Nick’s cock spreading him open, stretching him, and swallows a sound, finding Nick’s mouth with his own again. 

“Come can you come like that?” he manages, body thrumming with anticipation. “Do you wanna come like that?”

But Nick shakes his head and pulls away. “No, wait, I want to suck you-” He shifts down between Louis’ legs, taking Louis’ boxer shorts with him. Louis’ cock springs free and Louis moans, pressing his head back into the pillow, and lets his legs fall open. He wants to watch, he wants to see Nick’s mouth on his cock and he wants to see it all, so he leans over to the nightstand awkwardly and switches on the little lamp before falling back against the pillow. 

Nick’s face is flushed and his hair is all sticky and smoothed back, as sweaty as Louis feels all over. He wraps his hand around Louis’ cock and strokes him a few times before carefully pulling back the foreskin. Louis moans and then bites his lip, hips coming off the mattress when Nick leans down and licks at the head like it’s an ice lolly, careful strokes of his tongue until Louis can’t quite take it anymore. 

“Please,” he groans, “please, please, Nick, _please_ -” 

“Your bloody _voice_.” Nick sucks the tip of his cock between his lips and then takes it all the way in without much preamble; he swallows around it, working his throat, and Louis stares, lips parted, sweat gathering on his forehead. Nick squeezes the base and then pulls back again for a moment before taking him back in and his hand wanders down to Louis’ balls, fondling gently. Louis’ hips buck up before he can stop himself and he almost wants to apologize but Nick doesn’t pull away, just sucks harder until Louis sees actual stars. 

“Oh fuck, shit,” he whimpers, “I’m so close, Nick-” 

Nick releases his cock again; he looks up at Louis, mouth red, and strokes his cock with one hand, licking around the fingers of his other hand, and Louis closes his eyes and pulls his legs up, cock twitching. Nick takes him in again and presses his thumb against Louis’ taint, rubbing the sensitive skin until Louis has to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop himself from getting too loud. He shifts his hips up a little and Nick’s thumb slips further down against his arsehole and Louis sobs out a moan. Nick finally gets the hint and pushes a finger inside, throat still tight around the tip of Louis’ cock. He wiggles deeper, stretching Louis open just a little bit, and Louis comes with a hoarse shout, pulsing down Nick’s throat. He almost blacks out, shivering with the aftershocks when Nick doesn’t pull his finger out right away. 

“Nick, ah-” He can’t quite articulate the feeling, because it’s too much at once, but Nick crawls up his body and kisses him, still slowly fingering him through the aftershocks of orgasm. He tastes like Louis’ come, salty and not unpleasant, but Louis’ brain is so overloaded with sensation that he loses track of the kiss, mouth going slack. 

“Use your hand,” Nick says roughly and Louis moans and reaches into Nick’s pants, fingers curling around Nick’s cock. He pulls it out and starts stroking, following the rhythm of Nick’s finger still inside him. 

“Yeah,” Nick groans; Louis whimpers again, thighs tensing and untensing for a moment, when Nick pushes his finger a little deeper, then speeds up, and strokes faster. Nick’s cock is cut and slick in Louis’ hand, and twitching when Nick makes another noise, loud and strained and almost like he’s in pain; he hides his face against Louis’ chest and comes, cock pulsing in Louis’ hand, all over Louis’ stomach and chest, and then collapses against him, his finger slipping out of Louis. 

“Shit,” he half-laughs and kisses Louis’ chin and then his mouth; Louis kisses back lazily, head spinning and heart still racing. He feels tender and raw, and Nick seems to notice because the kiss grows soft until it’s barely there, and he gently trails his hands down Louis’ sides. 

“You okay?” he asks and Louis nods, leaning into the touch. 

“Yeah, it’s just.” He stops and shakes his head, the words caught in his throat for a moment, then laughs a little. “Overload.” He kisses the side of Nick’s mouth and then sits them both up carefully. “Do you mind if I take a shower?” 

Nick shakes his head and pushes his hair out of his eyes, and then hesitantly does the same with Louis’ fringe, fingers barely brushing Louis’ forehead. “Not at all. Can I come with?” 

Louis considers him for a moment and then nods. He leans down and kisses Nick’s shoulder, then drops his forehead against it. “You’re staying?” he asks and feels Nick nod and then reply, the bass in his voice vibrating through him, tangible for Louis where he’s touching his shoulder. “If I may?” 

Louis closes his eyes and nods. “Yes, yeah.”

 

**

 

Louis wakes far too early, barely a few hours after they’ve gone to bed, and his throat feels stuffy and his headache is almost debilitating. He gets up carefully, extracts himself from Nick’s limbs sprawled all over him and the bed, smiling at the sound of his snoring, and goes to the kitchen for aspirin and water. 

He sets up the coffee machine and then manages to find some biscuits in a cupboard and sits at the counter eating stale Oreos and drinking coffee that doesn’t quite taste right. Slowly but steadily memories of the last night at the club come flooding back, and they hit him like ice water, sending a shiver down his spine for a moment. He kissed Nick at the club, he went home with Nick in one cab as though he didn’t have to be afraid of paparazzi. He was drunk off his face and if there were flashing cameras he didn’t even notice them. 

He rubs his eyes and finishes his cup of coffee, then gets another. He should check his phone, probably, and see the mess for himself, but he doesn’t want to go back to the bedroom and start looking around for it when Nick is still asleep in there. 

He sighs a little and grabs for the computer on the counter top, flipping it open; Twitter is silent, still, and he opens one of the gossip sites that frequently publish stories about them, throat tight, but finds nothing but pictures of Harry and the pretty blonde leaving via the front exit. 

“Hey,” Nick says from the door suddenly and Louis looks up and attempts a smile. “You alright?” 

Louis nods slowly and Nick pads over to him, barefoot and only in his boxer shorts, and presses the expanse of his chest against Louis’ back. Even sitting on a stool, Louis is smaller, and he leans back into the touch, finding it oddly familiar and soothing. 

“What’s this?” Nick says; he puts his chin on Louis’ shoulder and places his hands over Louis’ stomach, rubbing in circles through the fabric of Louis’ T-shirt. 

“Nothing,” Louis says and sighs, eyes closing. “Idiots.” 

Nick laughs softly and kisses the side of Louis’ neck. “We’re all idiots, aren’t we?” He squeezes Louis gently and then lets go, and Louis turns around to find him smiling. He wants to say something; he wants to tell Nick that he’s not looking at the pictures of Harry and that girl for the reason Nick must think he’s looking, but Nick points at the sad plate of biscuits before Louis and says, “You had that for breakfast?” 

Louis nods. “Yes, I’m not- I can’t really cook or anything.” 

Nick smiles a little more. “How about I stay a bit longer and make you breakfast, then?” 

Louis watches him for a moment, the play of emotions on his face, and then ducks his head, smiling. “That’d be brilliant.”


End file.
